


Virtual Solution

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Aged-Up Character, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-19
Updated: 2004-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a good reason Seto spends so much time working on his virtual reality simulator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Virtual Solution

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas present for my fellow Fandom Pimp, J. Crew Guy. All this was his idea. He made me do it. Twisted my arm in fact. I was fighting it every minute. I really didn't want to do it. /irony. Special thanks to Spacetart for the beta work. Related to the VR arc "Real Problems, Virtual Solutions."

Seto's head hurt. His thoughts swam aimlessly, and sparks of light streaked the corners of his vision. He closed his eyes tightly, pressing down on the lids with his forefinger and thumb until an entire kaleidoscope of colour passed over his eyes. He felt disconnected from his body, as though he were splitting apart. Defeated, Seto dropped his hand to the armrest and leaned back in the chair, willing the headache to go away.

Fingers curled over his shoulders from behind, palms cupping the curves. Seto stiffened, his every sense going on alert as he prepared to defend himself. Instead of sliding upwards to squeeze his neck, the hands began a slow, undulating caress of his shoulders and upper back. The nimble fingers found out areas of tension and gently soothed them away. Bit by bit, Seto's defensive instincts ticked down to a lower energy level, relaxing into the familiar, intimate touch.

Only one pair of hands would dare to touch him so without his explicit permission.

"Mokuba," Seto sighed as the thumbs met on his spine, and a burst of energy drained away some of the pain from his head. He hadn't heard Mokuba's approach because he was barefoot--as he always was when they were alone--and, like Seto, he was practiced in stealth. He could pass silently through a room so as to not disturb his brother's work, or to sneak up on Seto for a prank.

The thumbs caressed the line of his necklace before Mokuba's fingers came up to play with the cord, tickling Seto's skin lightly. Seto bent his head forward and lowered his shoulders, offering himself to Mokuba's massaging hands.

Mokuba's body heat was like a warm blanket settling over Seto's shoulders as he leaned close. Instead of continuing the soothing caresses, Mokuba slid his hand down Seto's throat, tracing the cord into the open neck of Seto's shirt. His long fingers skimmed over skin in teasing touches as his wrist knocked open a few more buttons. His hand moved down to rest comfortably inside the shirt, against Seto's bare skin. He had to lean very close to reach around Seto, wrapping around his older brother comfortably. His cheek brushed Seto's ear, his breath warm and chocolate-sweet as Mokuba sighed against his face.

"You've been in my cologne again," Seto chided gently, recognizing the subtle scent clinging to Mokuba's skin.

"I like to wear it," Mokuba murmured distractedly in reply. His fingers moved in a short, twitching/petting movement, as though he wanted to touch Seto more but was holding back. Mokuba dipped his head, sniffing audibly at Seto's neck. "It makes me smell like you."

Seto inhaled too, letting the scent wash over his senses. The familiar cologne seemed exotic when mixed with his brother's skin--not at all like it smelled when he wore it. He smiled and shook his head with patient amusement.

The gold ring of the locket clasp tinged softly as Mokuba wrapped his hand around Seto's locket and lifted it, holding it in his fist. The back of his knuckles grazed Seto's skin as he pressed his fist to the center of Seto's chest, over his heart.

"You work too hard." Mokuba's voice was rich, deeper than Kaiba's. Even as a child his voice had been rough, but now it was also breathy as it rumbled in Seto's ear. Mokuba had inherited more than just their father's looks.

Seto nodded mutely in reply. Still not opening his eyes, he blindly turned his face towards Mokuba, his nod shifting into a nuzzle against his cheek, a questioning brush of his lips against the corner of his brother's mouth.

Mokuba turned his face into Seto's nuzzling, meeting Seto's lips with his own. They kissed lightly, a friendly hello; the angle was too awkward for anything more passionate. Nonetheless, their intense attraction for each other sparked like lightning between them, making his heart beat fast beneath Mokuba's fist.

Seto spun the chair, but Mokuba was already moving back, anticipating him and giving him room. Seto vaulted to his feet with grace and balance learned from years of fighting. He trapped Mokuba's hand inside his shirt with his own, pressing both their hands against his heart as he drove the younger man backwards. Mokuba's breath puffed out against Seto's lips as his head connected with the window wall behind him, right before Seto completed the circuit and kissed him again.

Mokuba relaxed instantly, letting Seto take over and move him, hold him open and against the glass pane--one hand trapped against the window, the other held inside Seto's shirt. They kissed, quick and hot, for a long time before Mokuba turned his head away. His grey eyes shifted to look out the window before returning to his brother's face.

"Seto, someone will see." When Seto tried to kiss him again, Mokuba pressed their foreheads together and turned his face so their lips couldn't meet.

"Let them," he scoffed, his lips barely brushing Mokuba's mouth. He turned his head again, chasing his brother until he could touch those soft, slick lips again. "You make them go away. You make it all go away. I don't care. It's just you and me here. Always, just you and me." He was babbling nonsense against Mokuba's mouth, but some how his brother understood, as he always did. Mokuba was his purest comfort, his greatest escape, his relief from the world.

Mokuba returned the kisses again, tolerating his brother's need to show off. Seto was wild, nipping at his mouth, surprised to find himself getting so rough so quickly. He had to concentrate to ease his grip on Mokuba's wrist, to keep from hurting him. Mokuba didn't complain; he moaned and rubbed himself against Seto, taking it. The younger man nipped back, playfully, then arched up into Seto's body, rubbing into this thigh. The headache, the window, everything was gone except Mokuba and those little noises that Seto loved so much.

Slowly, things cooled, the urgency wearing off into slow, loving enjoyment of each other. Seto savored the taste and feel of his brother's mouth, his neck. The immediacy eased as he nipped lightly at the locket cord around Mokuba's throat, licked his pulse, sucked a rose-patch under his jaw. Mokuba kissed what skin he could reach, or settled for nuzzling at Seto as his brother devoured his flesh. Seto worked his way back up to Mokuba's mouth, running his teeth along his chin.

When Mokuba turned away this time, it was to command, "Bedroom." It wasn't angry or forceful, but persuasive and promising as only Mokuba's voice could make that single word sound.

Seto would never have thought to disobey.

He pulled away from Mokuba's body slowly, regretfully, feeling every inch of the separation. Mokuba let go of his locket and slid his hand out of Seto's shirt, but Seto stubbornly held on to it still, weaving their fingers together. They shared a sly smile as Mokuba stepped around his older brother, tugging on his hand when Seto lingered, teasing, for just a moment. Seto stayed a step or two behind; the better to watch the sway and clench of his little brother's ass in his jeans. Mokuba led Seto out of the room by the hand, guiding him with looks that whispered wicked promises.

Mokuba could have been as tall or taller than Seto if he didn't slouch. Even though he was leading the way now, he still stood with his shoulders hunched in an age-old attempt to make himself appear smaller, younger, more vulnerable. Only when Mokuba was unsure of himself or threatened did he uncurl, standing straight and tall and defiant. Otherwise he withdrew when he was around Seto, content to be his older brother's shadow. Just now, he was slouched in a comfortable way, a conspirator's smile on his face. He wasn't hiding for the public, or standing up for his family. He was alone with Seto, and he was happy. There was no need for him to be anything but himself.

The hallways were long and dimly lit. Featureless doors made dark breaks between white walls decorated with austere portraits and stoic artwork Seto hadn't noticed in years. The tasteful decorations were for other people visiting the mansion; to Seto the long halls were nothing but an annoyance, especially at times like this. He made a mental note to move his bedroom closer to his office so that they wouldn't have so far to travel next time.

Mokuba turned his head again, smiling over his shoulder at Seto. His dark eyes were black and wide, and his cheeks were flushed. The freshly-kissed look was very becoming on him. Mokuba squeezed their joined hands, his fingers moving in tiny caresses that sent minute shivers up Seto's arm. It was rare that they were allowed time alone like this, where Seto could walk down the familiar hallways holding his lover's hand without hiding a single thing.

Seto amended the mental note to expand the floor plan and place the rooms at opposite sides of mansion.

Seto's bedroom, which had always seemed too big and too empty, shrank around them until there was only each other and the bed. Mokuba stepped up to Seto, his voice breathy again. "How do you want it?"

Seto kissed him, once, on the corner of his mouth before answering. "Slow." There was more he wanted to say, so much he couldn't say. He had a whole script of experiences he desired today, but he didn't need to say them. Mokuba blinked, and he read all that Seto kept inside. He knew what Seto wanted. He always knew.

Mokuba smiled, the curve of his lips twisting against Seto's until he had to smile too. Their hands finally released each other; Seto's falling to his side as Mokuba ran his hands up Seto's chest. He slid the half-opened shirt off his shoulders and down to his elbows, trapping Seto's arms. Mokuba smiled mischievously, giving his big brother another quick kiss. Without words, he asked Seto's permission to take control. And without words, Seto answered.

He relaxed his tensed arms and let Mokuba walk him backwards to the bed, positioning him until he was sitting on the edge, his hands behind his back. Mokuba sank to his knees in front of Seto. His long fingers plucked at the laces of Seto's shoes, loosening them. Absently, Seto was grateful he was still in his business attire--a more dowdy outfit, but easier to remove than the tight fashions he favored for those rare moments of free time.

Briefly, his mind went back to when Mokuba was very young, straining to help Seto take off his boots. How the young boy would put all his weight into it so that when the boot finally came off, he would go flying onto his back, the boot falling out of his hands.

It was a pleasant memory, one Seto treasured, but not appropriate here. This Mokuba was different. Old enough to make his own choices. Old enough to make everything a little less wrong.

Mokuba balled up the sock and shoved it into the shoe, setting it on the far side of the nightstand so it would be out of the way. The room's air was a little cool on Seto's naked toes, but Mokuba covered them with his hands, deftly kneading out any soreness, covering him with his heat. Then he worked on the other shoe, slipping it off and setting it and the sock out of the way.

When he was finished massaging that foot, Mokuba rubbed his hands up Seto's legs, squeezing the muscles of his thighs before skirting his hips and meeting at the buttons of his shirt. Mokuba undid the last visible button, then untucked the shirt and undid two more. He bunched the shirt around Seto's wrists behind his back, out of the way but not completely gone.

Mokuba reached up again, nudging aside his locket to rest a hand on Seto's heart. He pressed there, as though he could somehow touch the organ beneath flesh and bone, touch the very seat of emotion. A frivolous, romantic gesture, but perfectly Mokuba.

After several heartbeats, Mokuba moved his hand again, following the curve of his chest to his nipple. Seto was never very sensitive there, but Mokuba loved to play until he was peaked and hard, teasing Seto's body into reactions that were much too intense for the small pleasure received from the touch. Mokuba rubbed Seto's chest with both hands, roughing up his nipples with his palms and fingers.

Though Mokuba gave no command to do so, Seto strove to stay still and let him play. Mokuba seemed to be studying his skin, moving in circles up and down his chest that spread ever outward until Seto's stomach was jumping in anticipation of the next fleeting touch. Seto wanted to close his eyes to concentrate on the touch, but he kept them open and focused on Mokuba's face. It was his baby brother touching him, his Mokuba, his life. That reality alone made the soft, skating touch more exciting than the most talented caress. He didn't need to close his eyes and imagine another was stroking him like this--that Other was right here.

The fingers slid down under his belt, and Seto sucked in a breath, almost hiccupping as he anticipated the long-held-off touch he so needed. But the fingers slipped away from his skin just as quickly. Mokuba tugged at the thick leather of his belt. Once it was opened, Mokuba undid the buttons of his trousers.

He paused for an achingly extended moment, his eyes fixed on the bulge of Seto's pants. Seto's fingers clenched; he wanted to rip it open himself, lay himself bare. His hips shifted forward, but Seto bit his lip to keep from begging. He watched his brother's face, begging with his eyes.

Mokuba's long hair fell around his eyes as he pressed his face into Seto's lap. His black hair was thick, but soft and cool as it tickled against Seto's stomach. A snuffling breath against his skin, a soft coo, a nudging bump of a nose moving against his fly, and finally Seto heard the distinct sound of a zipper being drawn down slowly. Mokuba's hands were on Seto's thighs--he could feel the clutch and release of them--so his little brother had to be using his teeth. Seto groaned aloud--a long, drawn out noise that couldn't block out the unhurried sound of the zipper coming open. It was all he could do to not rub up against his brother's face as the younger man moved over his lap.

Once the zipper was down, Mokuba's hands let go of Seto's thighs and pulled the fly open and down, shifting it as far off his hips as he could without making him stand up take them off. He tugged and adjusted the loose trousers with his hands as his mouth sought out Seto's erection. It barely escaped the confines of his trousers before Mokuba's mouth engulfed him. Seto tried to suck in a breath then--hiccups be damned--but every muscle in his body seized. It was almost like pain, that first, sweet contact. Then Mokuba's tongue began tracing arcane symbols across his skin, and Seto was lost.

Every time was like the first time, every touch new on his flesh as Mokuba started to suck. Pulling off, Mokuba dotted hard, fast, noisy kisses up and down his erection. His little brother's hands fluttered around; now on his chest, now on his arms, now on his stomach. When Mokuba sucked him inside again, slowly bobbing his way down, Seto's legs clenched close around Mokuba's ribcage automatically, the sensations making his muscles jerk out of his control. Mokuba made a noise, perhaps of protest, perhaps just a surprised grunt as Seto's legs clenched around him.

With an effort, Seto relaxed his body, opening himself more. His hips edged forward, almost sliding of the edge of the bed. He leaned back on his hands, his wrists protesting the angle. Mokuba used the new position to swallow more of Seto's cock, his fingernails scraping his brother's hipbones as he gripped the edge of his pants and moved them down a little further.

Mokuba's hands slipped around Seto's waist, one pressing into his lower back while the other glided over his ass, rubbing the smooth, soft give of flesh, encouraging him forward and up. Mokuba shifted up as well, climbing to one knee, the other pressing hard on the inside of Seto's calf to pin his legs wide open with his own body. There was no way for Seto to move except how Mokuba allowed him, but Mokuba wanted him exactly where Seto wanted to be.

The soft, sucking pleasure of Mokuba's mouth couldn't go on forever, and quickly Seto felt the familiar rush and tingle in his spine. His hips snapped out of his and Mokuba's control, pushing his cock deep into his brother's throat. His senses seemed to telescope, hyper-aware of the tickle of Mokuba's breath as he struggled to breathe properly. Sudden panic gripped Seto even as his orgasm rushed upon him. He would never do anything to hurt his brother. Seto threw himself backwards to keep Mokuba from choking, falling into the middle of the bed as he came over his chest and stomach.

Seto panted and rolled to the side to take the pressure off his arms. He waited to catch his breath before he opened his eyes. He meant to mumble an apology, but the image of Mokuba was enough to stop any other thought than "yes" and "now." His little brother was standing at the edge of the bed, his clothes askew, ruffled, wrinkled. His lips were shiny and wet, raw from rough kisses and his recent labors. His grey eyes were completely black now, without a hit of the lighter color around wide, dilated pupils. The corner of his mouth was smeared with semen; Seto hadn't withdrawn fast enough.

Mokuba brought up his hand, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He looked aroused and predatory. His gaze never moved away from Seto's sprawled body as he slowly began to undress. He shrugged out of his vest, leaving it on the floor as he lifted his shirt out of his jeans. His gaze was broken only when he had to lift the shirt over his face. He pulled his wrists out of the sleeves and tossed it behind him, looking almost arrogant as Seto hardly blinked, watching him. He ran his hands over his chest, his eyes fixed on the stains on Seto's skin. He writhed under his own touch as he rubbed his skin, as though he were rubbing the semen into his own flesh. Seto's hands were trapped behind his back, but the blissful look on his brother's face would have been enough to make him stay still, pinned by Mokuba's pleasure.

Mokuba teased himself mercilessly, rubbing and pinching his nipples. He was more sensitive there than Seto was, and little noises rose from his throat as he played with himself. His nails flicked over the hard bumps, sometimes digging in until Seto had to wince in sympathy. Mokuba's hips continued the little dance, twitching and rolling with the touches.

Finally, he slid his hands down his chest, pushing one into his jeans. The tight fabric stretched taut over his hand, outlining perfectly the movement beneath. Mokuba ran his hand over his erection, reaching down until he could cup his balls. His eyes half-closed as a low hum built up in his throat. The heavy-lidded gaze was focused on Seto's groin with such intensity that Seto was almost sure he could feel his brother's hand on him. Mokuba's hips rocked as his other hand began to unbutton his jeans. When they were unbuttoned, he slid his hand out and up his chest, idly circling his navel as the loosened fabric edged down his narrow hips. Mokuba wiggled and writhed and finally pushed them off his hips and thighs with his hands. They dropped to his bare feet, leaving him naked but for his locket and the veil of black hair that perpetually hung around his face and down his back, thick and wild. He stood shameless for a short moment, letting Seto look all over his body.

He kicked his clothes out of his way and climbed onto the bed, stalking Seto as he crawled on all fours up his body. He grabbed the top of Seto's opened trousers and roughly worked them down his thighs. Seto rolled to help him, lifting his hips and legs as needed. Once his feet were shaken out of the cuffs, the trousers were tossed to the floor, joining the rest of the clothes. He was nude except for the shirt still wrapped around his wrists; a very loose set of bonds hidden behind his back.

Mokuba crawled up until he was straddling Seto's legs, his face over Seto's stomach. He reached out and held Seto's mostly flaccid penis in his hand, caressing him lovingly before sucking him back into his mouth. It was too soon to do anything but feel really good. Mokuba only tasted him, sucking away the evidence of Seto's orgasm before letting it slip out of his mouth. Mokuba followed it down to Seto's skin, licking his way up his belly to lick and suck away the traces he found there. Mokuba's long hair hung around his shoulders and down his back, making his skin seem pale against its darkness. It was like silk and spider webs and soft spun rope against Seto's flesh. The skin-warm metal of Mokuba's locket tickled as it slid over his flesh.

Once he finished cleaning Seto's chest, Mokuba started nudging him up the bed, crowding him and pushing with his body and hands until Seto was leaning his head on the headboard, his shoulders propped up on the pillows, his hands flat beneath his back. His locket was trapped uncomfortably under his shoulders, but Mokuba helpfully tugged it free and placed it carefully back over his heart. Mokuba backed off his brother's body, sliding to the side and wiggling around the bed so that he could reach the nightstand. There was a bottle of lube there, left out in the open. Of course. They were both adults. There was nothing to hide here, nothing to be ashamed of. Mokuba wobbled back across the large mattress on his knees, one hand cupped close to his chest as the other stretched out for balance. He smiled, unabashed at his awkwardness, as he steadied himself on Seto's knee.

Seto laughed out loud, the sound so strange to his ears. It was rare that he had a moment to laugh like that, without sarcasm or disgust darkening it. Just a light, amused laugh, shared with the only good thing in his life.

The smile stayed on his face as Mokuba lowered his hand, showing the shiny lube to his brother. His other hand strayed up from Seto's knee to the juncture of his leg, rubbing the long crease there. Watching Mokuba's smile become something of a leer, Seto adjusted his position and bent his knees until his feet were on the bed. He fisted his hands under his spine and lifted his hips, shifting around until Mokuba's hand held him down, keeping him right where he needed to be.

Seto had done this so many times--with Mokuba, with others--he needed only the most precursory preparation. A small reminder of stretching, movement, fullness. His body remembered. The body never forgets.

Then Mokuba was right there, as he always was, filling in that empty, lonely void inside Seto.

The slow, searing stretch always felt good, but there was something special with Mokuba. The world disappeared; just flesh and blood remained. The only way it could have been more right was if they had been born at the same time, the same flesh. Siamese twins. Forever joined, and never apart.

Seto could have spent an eternity like this: on his back, staring up at his brother's face. Mokuba's long, black hair fell down around them like a shield, cutting them off from the rest of the world. Everything was more intense--the feeling of Mokuba inside him; the first electric kiss after their joining, like a kind of pain Seto could never live without; the gasp and sigh his brother made as he finally slipped completely inside. Mokuba's locket swung over Seto's chest like a crazy pendulum, sometimes grazing his skin, sometimes knocking against his own as Mokuba hunched over his body.

If it were up to Seto, he *would* have an eternity of just this.

He still wasn't recovered from his orgasm, so Seto was able to fully concentrate on Mokuba without his own need distracting him. He watched his face, memorizing the way Mokuba's brows tilted with concentration, his eyes unfocused, his teeth against his lips. Mokuba worked quickly, thrusting hard into Seto's body. His shoulders were still rolled forward, the thick muscles of his arms holding him up over Seto's body. His long hair was everywhere, sticking to their skin with sweat. Seto wanted to reach out and pet him, move the hair out of his face, but he kept his hands where Mokuba had put them. Everything was for Mokuba's pleasure now, and yet the show was also all for him. Seto lay back passively, contentedly watching his brother moan and gasp, thrust and growl, as his own pleasure still sang in his blood. Seto didn't need to do anything but enjoy the feeling of Mokuba finding pleasure in his body.

Mokuba let out a little noise as he came, his face scrunching up like he was about to cry. His hips jerked, then his body sagged down onto Seto, his flagging erection slipping out wetly. Seto rolled them both over, finally shaking his hands free from the binding shirt to catch Mokuba and lay him down, petting his face and chest as his little brother panted for breath. There was a faint smile on his face as he came down, a quiet laughter in his breath.

"Mokuba," Seto said quietly, calling to his little brother. He wanted to say more, but Mokuba knew.

"Seto," Mokuba replied, his face turning towards him. "Seto? Seto?"

His voice was different, suddenly. He sounded very young, and more than a little frightened. "Seto? Seto!"

The headache, forgotten earlier, suddenly returned in full force. For a moment, two worlds twisted in Seto's mind. Two Mokubas swam in his vision, their faces overlapping. One older, smiling, hair messed and sweaty, eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied, lips swollen, wet. The other was young, round-faced, eyes wide and worried, face blurred by the dome of the pod. Slowly, the headache eased, and the older Mokuba faded away.

Lifting a shaking hand, Seto flipped the visor up from his face. With a few buttons pressed, the pod dome opened.

"Seto! It's been hours. You didn't show up for lunch!"

Seto couldn't stop the wince, the rush of guilt over more than missing a lunch date with his little brother. "I'm sorry."

"You had me worried." Mokuba didn't look worried anymore. He was well on the way to pissed off.

Seto's fingers quickly danced over the keyboard, saving the program settings and locking it away under several levels of security, burying the file deep where no one would look for it. No one could access the pod without his authorization, but he wasn't going to take any chances leaving it loaded. Only after everything was secured did Seto step out of the pod. His step was a little unsteady--he still hadn't perfected the interface between mind and computer. The headaches and unsteadiness was just a part of separating the mind from the body and entering it into the game.

But he was so close! The reality was perfect. He only needed to fix a few small things, and it would be no different from the real world.

No, it would be better.

Mokuba was right there at Seto's side as he wobbled on his feet, letting his older brother lean on him for support. Seto rested against him for a moment, until the dizziness passed and he could feel his legs solidly once more.

Sniffing suspiciously, Seto leaned even closer to Mokuba. "You've been into my cologne again," he said, his voice lightly accusing.

Mokuba blushed a little, ducking his chin as he scrubbed at his neck with his fingers. "Just a little. I like it. Makes me smell like you." Talking quickly before Seto could admonish him for getting into his stuff, Mokuba looked up at Seto with an excited face. "Is it working? Did you fix the bugs?"

For a moment, Seto's vision blurred, and he saw the older Mokuba in front of him again. "It's nearly perfect."

"Neat! When can I try it?"

Seto petted down Mokuba's wild black hair, perpetually messed. "When you're older," Seto answered.

Mokuba shrugged, taking Seto at his word. He trusted him implicitly, and if Seto said to wait, he would wait. There was no discussion.

"Is there still some lunch left over?" Seto asked, trying to sound as if he were very hungry. He didn't feel like eating, but his brother would worry so. Sometimes, he wondered who was the guardian here. Mokuba took on too many responsibilities already. Seto worked hard to keep him from having to be so grown up, but his little brother was determined to be just like Seto. He wanted to protect Mokuba, and let him be a child as long as possible. It wasn't any fun to grow up too fast.

Mokuba ran ahead, already at the door of the lab. "I snuck you a sandwich, though Old Mrs. Pratt told me not to. She says that if you want to work yourself to an early grave, we ought to step aside and let you do it all the quicker."

Seto let Mokuba run ahead, following him to where the secret sandwich was stashed away. Before he closed the lab doors, he looked back at the pod.

He could still taste Mokuba on his mouth, and he felt guilty for it--and profoundly sad. He felt as though he were leaving his lover, even though it was all virtual reality. He shouldn't be thinking this way of his little brother; even though it was just fantasy, Mokuba deserved something better than that. The fake Mokuba was not like him; no matter how many equations he ran, however he programmed the artificial intelligence, he could never predict how Mokuba would grow up, what choices he would make. The virtual Mokuba was nothing but a fantasy, no matter how realistic it felt.

A fantasy of something he could never have.

 

THE END


End file.
